


practice [repost]

by novoaa1



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom Carol Danvers, Dom Natasha Romanov, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Kneeling, Multi, Reader-Insert, Spanking, Teasing, and she's being... quizzed... sort of, reader is a college-age f who just started taking russian language!, sighh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Natasha and Carol (and I really cannot emphasize the quotations enough here) "help you study" your Russian. How kind of them, right?
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Natasha Romanov, Carol Danvers/Natasha Romanov/Reader, Carol Danvers/Reader, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 119





	1. say 'please'

**Author's Note:**

> like the title says, this is a repost because i deleted it for being so full of Sin but a couple people asked if i could post it back up again, and here we are!
> 
> before you ask—no, i haven't been to church in a very long time
> 
> and no, i do not plan on going at any point in the near future
> 
> also if you found this and you know me irl, no you didn't❤️

You whimper loudly as Carol’s dextrous fingers slip down your torso, goosebumps rising upon your stomach in their wake, ripping a sharp inhale from your battered throat when they finally come to ghost teasingly just atop your panty-covered clit. 

She chuckles hotly in your ear as her thin fingers stroke oh-so-carefully over the damp fabric, making you squirm and twitch reflexively against her. There’s a heated blush painting your cheeks while Natasha’s intent gaze upon you from the other side of the room seems to grow more predatory by the second, those hungry green eyes greedily taking in the scene before her with scarcely concealed lust. 

“P-Please,” you whimper as another skilled brush of Carol’s finger against your clothed clit has your lids slamming shut, pleasure exploding behind your eyes, too much and not enough all in one. 

“‘Please’ what, pretty girl?” Carol hums lowly against the shell of your ear, arm wrapped firmly around your bare waist, her fully-clothed figure warm and _solid_ behind you, forbidding you to forget the sheer measure of her strength, the physicality she possesses to bend you forcefully to her will any way she chooses. 

(The mere thought of it causes you to let out a high-pitched whimper that has nothing to do with the sensation of Carol’s fingers ghosting across your sex and everything to do with the unbearable anticipation of what they’re going to do, of how they’re going to use you for their own gain rising like an all-powerful tidal wave in your chest that threatens to render you utterly incapable in its efficacious wake.)

“P-Please, t- _touch_ me, I—"

“You know the rules,” Carol interrupts sternly, her tone steely and uncompromising, causing a full-bodied shudder to run down your spine. “You needed to study your Russian, hon, right?”

You can do little but whine in reply, giving the shallowest nod of your head in some desperate half-hearted attempt to demonstrate your acquiesce. 

“Then let Nat and me help you study.” Her grip tightens around your waist then, her feather-light touch all of a sudden turning rough and deliberate against your clothed clit, eliciting the loudest moan yet from you at the plentiful _sensation_ of it all. “Open you eyes, darling. Nat’s gonna quiz you.”

You obey instantaneously even as pleasure obscures your mind in a heavy fog, your lids fluttering open to see a smirking Natasha sitting primly in place atop the bed, rested comfortably against the ornate pinewood headboard behind her, absentmindedly swirling a glass of blood-red wine in her hand all the while your torment continues. 

“You look so pretty, дорогая,” she muses huskily, her tone honeyed yet demanding in that intoxicating way only Natasha could ever seem to employ, red painted lips curved in the barest hint of a smirk—all you can do is gasp and whimper in lieu of response while Carol begins to trace lazy circles around your black-lace-covered clit, driving you positively _mad_ with pleasure. “Tell me… what is the word for ‘kitten’?”

“К-Кошечка.”

“Good, красивая,” she praises, the Russian term of endearment falling off her tongue in the most exquisite way, causing you to melt even further into Carol’s strong-armed grip, growing even more pliant and willing beneath her sure touch. "And the word for ‘yours’?”

You shudder, feeling your relentlessly teased cunt gush with wetness in response. “Т-Т-Твоя.”

“Ours,” Carol echoes with shudder-worthy finality against the exposed slope of your neck, teeth sinking into the delicate skin there even as her fingers press harder against the damp patch of your panties, sending lightning bolts of unadulterated pleasure rocketing through your senses. 

“And the masculine form?”

“Т-Т-Твой."

Natasha simply hums in answer to that before taking another sure-handed sip of wine from her glass, her intent evergreen eyes never leaving your half-naked (—well, naked save for the black lace thong over which Carol’s fingers remain teasing you in the most torturous of ways—) form. “Tell me the word for ‘please,’ милая. Heaven knows you’ll be needing it.”

Your eyes widen even while another offhanded swipe of Carol’s fingers against your throbbing clit has your body instinctively arching back against hers in a silent plea for more. _Fuck_ —you just started taking Russian, and maybe it’s true that that was one of the first things you’d learned, but it’s a hard language, and damn it all, but you can’t remember exactly how to sound that one out. 

“U-Um, i-it’s… п-пожал…” you trail off uncertainly, doing your very best to keep focus despite the slow, devastating smirk spreading across Natasha’s regal features, especially when combined with the press of Carol’s magical fingers against the front of your soaked panties, teasing yet firm all at the same time. “П-П-Пожалуст… е… ?”

Natasha raises a single brow, her confident grin turning deadly as her impossibly green gaze glitters with newfound mirth. “Is that your final answer, малыш?”

“U-Um—" a particularly hard press against your clit has you arching your back even further and keening _desperately_ in Carol’s arms, your breath hitching violently in your throat as the single touch has you skyrocketing to the edge of climax in 0 seconds flat, the pleasure clouding your vision until all you can see is euphoria with the slightest tinge of provocative evergreen—God, you need to _come_ , even as you know Natasha would never allow it so soon, especially not when you’ve just (in all likelihood) butchered the Russian moniker for ‘please’ so horribly. “… No?”

Natasha’s brow creeps up even further towards her hairline. “You have a different final answer?” she questions, sounding indubitably amused while Carol chuckles playfully against your neck, the blonde's hot breath ghosting deliciously over the bites she’s left all across your skin in such a way that has you squirming more restlessly than ever before even as she tightens her grip around your hips in retaliation and murmurs against your throat for you to stay still.

“Um… " Natasha watches you with feigned interest as you struggle to form a response. “I—"

“Answer the question, love,” Carol growls against your neck before sinking another stinging bite into your skin, causing you to whimper and strain helplessly against her strong grip holding you tight. 

“I—No, Nat-Natasha, I-I don’t—"

“I suspected as much,” she cuts you off smoothly, setting her half-empty wine glass aside atop the nightstand before returning to settle herself comfortably amongst the pillows at the head of the mattress, still dressed in black leggings and an off-the-shoulder cashmere sweater (affording a drool-worthy peek at the gentle slope of her collarbone in the dim light). “Carol, hon?”

“Mm?” Carol hums distractedly in reply, the sound of it muffled against the likely well-reddened skin covered in loving bites at the base of your neck.

“Stop touching her,” Nat orders calmly, a not-insignificant hint of steel underlying her words—Carol immediately acquiesces (albeit with palpable reluctance), leaving a final teasing nibble upon your skin before slinking briskly away with dizzying haste, leaving you swaying in place upon unsteady legs, dread and excitement permeating the heady cloud of arousal inhibiting your mind… you know Natasha’s not going to let this slide. 

“Panties off.” Almost instantaneously, you comply, kicking the sodden lace down your shaky thighs, letting it drop beneath you upon the beige-colored carpeted flooring. "On the bed,” Natasha requests without leaving room for debate (as she so seldom does) as she slides herself deftly off the mattress and onto the floor, standing with feet bare and brow cocked— _God, she’s ethereal_ , you think. “Face down.” 

You give a shaky nod, putting all your remaining focus towards not tripping over your own feet as you amble gingerly towards the bed on viscerally trembling legs, feeling Carol and Natasha’s hungry-eyed gaze upon you all the while. 

You settle atop the plush eggshell-white comforter with a muted sigh of contentment, face-down ass-up just like Natasha asked, head resting comfortably atop your crossed arms, full breasts squashed against the bedspread. 

You hear faint noises in the background, can hear Carol and Natasha murmuring quietly to one another just feet away—but you’re no super-spy and you’re most certainly not supernaturally enhanced, so there’s little you can reasonably deduce beyond the fact that they’re both there, with you in the room, no doubt plotting some entirely devastating way to take you apart piece by piece beneath their skillful touch in that exhaustively thorough way only they ever could.

Your cunt pulses almost painfully as you make a conscious effort to relax your body, to let yourself just melt wholly into the bedding—you know that you’ll make the sheets beneath you damp within minutes as you feel a fat droplet of your own arousal tracing your inner thighs, driving you nearly _mad_ with unadulterated _need_. 

(And you know, additionally, that both Carol and Natasha won’t hesitate to comment resoundingly upon that the moment it happens.)

“She looks so pretty, doesn’t she?” Natasha muses aloud from the foot of the bed, her voice molten like sweetened honey and washing over you in alleviating drifts, like waves lapping gently at a tropical shore. 

“Gorgeous,” Carol readily agrees, her sonorous voice a stark contrast to Natasha’s dulcet overture—but, still, powerfully efficacious in every sense, sending powerful shivers all throughout your nude being atop the covers. 

“Well. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

You hear the wolfish grin poignantly in Carol’s tone as she says: “I thought you’d never ask.”

ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> дорогая | dorogaya | darling [term of endearment (feminine)]  
> кошечка | koshka | kitten (f)  
> красивая | krasiivaya | beautiful (feminine)  
> твоя | tvaya | yours (feminine)  
> твой | tvoy | yours (masculine)  
> пожалуйста | pozhalyoosta | please


	2. holy

_Smack!_

The sound of Natasha’s sure hand coming down _hard_ upon your bare left cheek has you fisting the fleece-white comforter just beneath you as the pain of it rockets throughout your body like a bolt of lightning, your ass sore and battered and _bruised_ from the continuous abuse. 

You’d long since lost track of the strikes (maybe somewhere around 50 or so? 55, maybe?), and frankly, it was something of a blessing that neither Natasha nor Carol had demanded that you count each one. 

You think you hear Carol rummaging around through the ornate wooden vanity somewhere off in the background—though, understandably, that minor detail seems rather inconsequential in light of your current situation, and your harried brain doesn’t bother dwelling on it for any more than moment or two. 

Your ass throbs with pain and you’re sure it must be glowing a truly lurid shade of bright red; hot, agonized tears burn in your eyes and it doesn’t surprise you when they spill to wet either of your cheeks with undeniable evidence of your salty desperation—God, it hurts it hurts it _hurts_ , but you want to be good for Nat and Carol more than anything, and damn your stubborn pride but you intend to do just that. 

_Smack! Smack! Smack!_

By the third consecutive blow you’re letting loose a truly anguished sob into the bedspread as you clench fistfuls of the snow-white duvet tightly in either hand, the fabric (damp with your snot and tears) tickling your nose when you nuzzle even further into them in some hapless attempt at finding the barest modicum of comfort to soothe the steady pulsing ache that you can feel ever-so-gradually taking the sum of your very being by storm—and, as soon as it’s begun, as soon as something altogether fundamental seems to snap within you (that intrinsic gut feeling that tells you you can’t fucking _take_ any more, one you know a hell of a lot better than to ignore), it’s over. 

Suddenly, Tasha’s calloused hands are massaging your thighs in that utterly sublime way that never fails to elicit contented groans from deep within your battered throat, and Carol’s planting the gentlest of kisses down your spine from the nape of your neck to the valley betwixt your shoulder blades, her warm calloused hands soothing your twitching muscles with every suppressed whine Natasha’s ministrations elicit from you. 

It’s like the most obscure kind of penultimate heaven, and the sheer sensation of it is more than enough to have you melting contentedly into the bedspread beneath their skilled hands, succumbing in both body and mind to their gentle insistence—God, you’ve missed this: falling apart under their unwavering sovereignty, splintering into a million tiny little pieces and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that they won’t let any part of you slip through the cracks.

Natasha’s sure hands knead at the delicate flesh of your inner thighs even as Carol’s ever-so-gentle ministrations continue and you groan, your exhaustion rendering you frustratingly immobile, unable to do much else beyond whine and plead incoherently for a reprieve you know you won’t be getting—at least, not until Natasha and Carol decide to give it. 

“What’s that, дорогая?” Natasha entreats with a dark chuckle. 

Your resultant whimper is muffled by the damp sheets against your swollen lips as her dexterous fingers ghost torturously just millimeters from your aching center, and when she finally drags a finger through your slick folds from entrance to clit with agonizing leisure, it’s like heaven. On its own, that firm brush of Natasha’s single digit against your most sensitive place is more than enough to leave you utterly desperate for more, for even the barest hint of something that might curb the white-hot flames of your desire licking hotly at your insides, building to something that’s so indubitably overwhelming you’re sure you won’t be able to take if it doesn’t end, _soon_. “Do you need something?”

Carol chuckles against your shoulder blade just as a truly _depraved_ whimper escapes you, murmuring filthy things into your sweat-damp skin all the while: “Look at you, baby… so needy and desperate for us… and _only_ us, yes?” 

She punctuates her murmured inquiry with a hard nip just above your shoulder blade, harsh enough to make you yelp, your body reflexively jerking into Natasha’s light-fingered touch such that her deft fingers brush up against your aching clit just so—“Y-Yes, yes, i-it’s only for you, I—I _promise_ , o-only you, p- _please_ —"

“She’s so pretty when she begs,” Natasha muses from above, her honeyed tone positively dripping with heady indifference as she abruptly retracts her hand from your center, leaving you dangling over the precipice of pleasure, begging incoherently into the damp sheets beneath you for _more_ , more, _please_ just a little bit more. “Isn’t she, Carol?”

Carol hums absentmindedly in acquiesce to that, them leaves a gentle kiss upon dampened skin at the small of your back before the warmth of her touch is suddenly leaving you, retreating off somewhere to where you loathe to know you can’t follow. 

You feel cold all of the sudden, deep in your belly at their precipitous absence even as the heat in your face and ass only seems to intensify tenfold with every second you spend so flushed and needy, exposed and _desperate_ for their touch. 

“Up, baby,” Carol speaks gently from somewhere off in the very near distance, her roughened tone underlaid delicately with the most uncompromising brand of iron. 

Immediately, you’re pushing yourself up from the bed on shaking limbs despite how your sore muscles scream vehemently in protest, melting into Carol’s calloused palms against your waist as they reach out to steady you… God, your cunt throbs and your ass _burns_ but you want to be good for them, _need_ to be good for them else you fear you might shatter entirely, fracturing whatever’s left of your frail body into a billion tiny pieces that you aren’t quite sure you’ll ever be able to glue together again. 

So, instead you go willingly: leaning heavily into Carol’s strong hands and following blindly as she guides you steadily down to stand upon the cool hardwood flooring, your legs trembling violently beneath you, your face heating under Natasha’s intent gaze as you turn to face her and—

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

She’s undressed herself almost entirely now save for a matching set of blood-red lacey lingerie. You can’t help but drink the sight of it in like a woman starved, miles upon miles of smooth, milky pale skin on display unto your questing gaze, juxtaposed so deliciously by the wine-red lace hugging every curve… Carol’s standing just beside her, too, utterly bare save for a pair of plain charcoal-grey boy shorts (the thick waistband emblazoned with ‘TOMMY HILFIGER’ in bold white lettering) clinging to her toned thighs and trim hips. 

They look like royalty standing side by side— _goddesses_ , with matching lust-filled gazes boring into you so intently it’s all you can do not to shrivel under the sheer weight of their desire.

“On your knees, дорогая,” Natasha orders, low and husky and endlessly assertive, and you scramble to obey, more or less collapsing down to the floor and trusting Carol to catch you—and catch you she does, sliding a lean arm dexterously around your waist and lowering you oh-so-gently to kneel upon the polished hardwood at her feet.

Looking up at the glorious sight of Natasha standing haughtily over you, a single perfectly-manicured brow quirked, evergreen eyes boring down into yours, you can’t help the whimper that escapes your battered throat in response, legs trembling beneath you with the effort of keeping your sore behind from leaning too heavily upon your heels. 

“Хорошо,” she purrs under her breath, the very picture of levelheaded composure, blood-red lips curving into the barest hint of a smirk. 

What happens next seems like something of a blur: “Now, красивая,” she prompts, sultry voice positively _dripping_ with lecherous sensuality, and sooner than you can blink she’s unclipping her bra in one swift movement and sliding that blessedly flimsy excuse for underwear down gloriously pale thighs to pool at her feet, crooking her pointer figure sensuously down at you in an altogether hypnotic _‘Come hither’_ motion. “Get to work.”

ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß ß

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> хорошо | harasho | good; well done

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts?
> 
> (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/) or just search me up @ultralightdumbass to come talk to me there!)


End file.
